Who Let The Wolf Out?
by DwightK.Schrute
Summary: The Alphas are on the move, and Derek doesn't feel safe having the human members of their group spread out so he sends his wolves out to collect them. Peter is in charge of getting Stiles, but of course he does more than just that. SLASH, PeterStiles.
1. Sleep Tight, Don't Let the Wolfies Bite

**A/N: **So this isn't Sterek. You could tell that by the description, but I still feel weird writing PeterStiles (what is their ship name?). It feels wrong but at the same time oh so right, and I'm not going to stop. I have some ideas for additional shipping, but I'll save those until I'm sure I want to use them in this fic.

**Disclaimer: ****I do not own the MTV series, Teen Wolf, or any of its characters.**

**Warning: This fic will contain slash so if you don't like that I would suggest not reading.**

Stiles awoke shivering beneath the thin sheet that was between him and the crisp night. It had been unbearably humid when he went to sleep, the smell of rain in the air, but that seemed to have passed. Now it was just cold, and the window was open, allowing soft, chilly breezes to stir the curtains.

His sleepy brain took a few moments to register the problem at hand. The fog lifted enough from his mind to remember that there had been a box fan in his window, and there was no longer. Had there been a storm, maybe, and it had fallen?

He sat up, and the fatigue that overcame him convinced him to leave the fan wherever it was 'til morning. In the dark he leaned down to the foot of the bed, reaching for the covers he had kicked off. They must have ended up on the floor, because he didn't find them.

With a sigh, Stiles crawled all the way to the bottom of the bed and reached down to retrieve his blankets. They weren't there. But now that he was eye-level with the floor, and his eyes had adjusted to the darkness, he could see that his fan was sitting upright underneath the window, and that the cord had been unplugged and set atop it.

There was a shifting in he darkness, a movement in the shadows that he could see and hear as a floorboard creaked.

"Who's there?" Stiles asked aloud, his voice a normal level that sounded booming in the darkness. He squinted, eyes peeling apart the shapes for the slightest abnormality or shift.

He was perched on his hands and knees at the very bottom edge of the bed. Suddenly he felt the mattress dip behind him, a warm body pressed against his rear, and an arm snaked around his front to circle around his chest. He was jerked backwards, thrown back down against the mattress harshly. In a quickness that even his eye couldn't catch, the body switched places with him, perched over him. He could see their outline in the darkness, could feel heat radiating off of them, but couldn't make out who it was.

Panic crawled up Stiles throat as the person surged forward. But his yells were silenced by a hand clamping over his mouth. He felt claws dig into his cheek, saw piercing yellow eyes looming mere inches away from his own. The person, who he knew now to be a werewolf, was straddling his waist, holding him down with a terrifying force. No matter how he squirmed and struggled, the person-beast seemed unmoved, undeterred.

"Now, now Stiles, let's not cause a fuss," a smooth, chilling calm voice said, not quite whispering. The eyes disappeared, and hot breath ghosted against the shell of Stiles' ear. "Wouldn't want to wake the sheriff. He's had a long day, don't you think?"

Peter, Stiles' mind announced.

"Derek noticed some movement amongst the Alphas. He was a bit concerned for the humans involved- you, the Argents, Lydia. He wanted Isaac, his sister and I to collect you all, bring you back to the loft while he goes and talks to Scott."

Stiles had stopped struggling, stopped trying to buck Peter off of him, when he heard Alphas. His mind was working lightening fast, trying to imagine what the Alphas could be doing that Derek felt threatened by, when he realized that Peter had let go of his mouth and was now stroking his hair.

"What-" Stiles cut off, not wanting to be practically smothered again. He restarted, more quietly this time. "What on Earth are you freaking doing?" he whisper-shouted.

Peter was laid across the full length of Stiles' body, pinning him down, warming him with his preternatural werewolf heat. Stiles most certainly was not blushing. Nope. Nosiree.

"I never did tell you that I like what you've done with your hair," Peter murmured, carding his fingers through the dark locks. "It suits you."

"Oh, well, th-thanks? I guess," Stiles mumbled. He angled his neck, trying to duck his head away from Peter's creepy fingers.

Peter's hand found its way into his hair anyway, buried deep with fingers curled, locked firmly against Stiles' scalp. He yanked the boy's head back, bared his pale, mole-scattered throat, earned a soft yelp and a stiffening of the body beneath him.

"Yes, your hair is very nice," Peter echoed. He pressed his face into Stiles' neck, breathed deeply his musky teenage scent that beared a certain ripe sweetness.

"Y-you're fucking creepy," Stiles stammered, attempting to shake his head of Peter's firm grip. "Like, pedo-creepy, you realize that, right?"

Peter chuckled, and it rumbled into Stiles' skin. He opened his mouth wide, let his tongue loll out and run along the boy's throat, feeling and tasting his pulse. Stiles shuddered.

He bit down, softly, threatening to mark. Stiles tried to thrash, but Peter was so much stronger; he couldn't help the whimper that escaped him, a mixture of fear and arousal, and Peter soothingly licked at the red welts forming on his neck.

"I thought we were supposed to go b-back to De-erk's loft," Stiles managed out, as Peter's tonguing turned to kisses that trailed down his neck, and as Peter ground down against his completely unwilling but prominent erection.

Stiles moaned, pitifully, causing Peter to bite down, hard, at the space between his neck and shoulder. Stiles hissed.

"You're very much fun," Peter said, relinquishing his hold on Stiles. "But I'm afraid we need to stop."

He sat back on Stiles legs, the boy's erection between them, and Stiles squirmed to cover himself up. He couldn't free his legs, but he brought his arms down, covering his crotch with his wrists and angling his hands up so they weren't touching the werewolf, who was still close.

"Good," Stiles muttered. "I wanted you to stop."

He unthinkingly bit his lip, fluttered his lashes, and his cheeks burned red. Peter zoned in on his mouth, looking hungrier than Stiles has ever seen anybody.

"We need to go," Peter said after shaking himself. He climbed down off the bed, rearranged his clothes. "It isn't safe here."

"But my dad-"

"-will be fine," Peter finished. "The Alphas have no business with him. You are the one who has been poking your nose into our business, mingling with the pack. You are the liability here."

Stiles was shocked, and hurt; he felt a pang in his chest, like someone had socked him there. Peter must have read it on his face, because he stepped forward suddenly. But then he seemed to stop himself, and Stiles couldn't read his face in the dark well enough to tell why. Damn his stupid human eyes.

At least Peter's words had been a total boner killer. He unfolded from himself, stretched out and crossed his arms over his chest defiantly.

"I'm not going anywhere with you," Stiles protested, even though he knew it was stupid. He was putting himself and his father in danger now. "I want Derek to come get me."

Stiles would have smirked if the growl from Peter hadn't scared him. He cowered slightly.

"Fine, if you're going to be difficult, then I am going to be rough."

Stiles was prepared to scream. Peter was prepared for him to be prepared to scream. The older male darted forward and covered his mouth, pulled Stiles tightly to him. He was very nearly smothering he boy, and he knew it.

"Are you going to come consciously, or do I need to take you unconsciously?"

Stiles, stricken once again with panic even as Peter sort of cradled him against him, tried to flee like prey from a grossly more powerful predator. But Peter just shushed him, held him more tightly, his free hand tracing calming circles on Stiles' stomach.

But that only made Stiles struggle more as he imagined the older man dominating him, imagined him wolfing out and doing unkind things to him. Peter sighed almost sadly as he moved his hand to cover Stiles' nose as well.

"I don't want to do this Stiles," he cooed as the boy thrashed against him, fighting for air. "Be a good boy now and go to sleep."

Spots reigned over Stiles' vision, and he felt a tingling in his fingers and lips. His eyes rolled back, and he felt Peter's grip slacken, although it was too late now for Stiles to fight back.

Stiles did go to sleep. He went into a very deep sleep, listening to Peter chuckle with satisfaction as he went.

He just hoped the werewolf wouldn't try to carry him bridal style and embarrass him in front of everybody at the loft. He had his dignity, and it laid in being carried like a sack of potatoes over someone's shoulder.

* * *

It was not pleasant waking up a second time. His head hurt, no doubt from being suffocated. If only he had gotten enough brain damage to forget last night.

Stiles was sprawled across a leather couch that felt like a cloud. A blanket had been tossed over him, and he would have been touched if he wasn't angry about the whole "you're a liability now I'm going to smother you," thing.

With a huff, Stiles sat up, staving off nausea as a wave of dizziness washed over him, and swung his legs off the couch. He was surprised to find Boyd and Isaac curled up on the floor in front of him, and Scott draped over the armchair across the room.

Stiles would have been flattered that he had gotten the best bed in the place. But again, the near-death encounter caused by Peter stopped him and made him seethe instead.

"You're awake," a gruff voice stated matter-of-factly. Derek was standing off to the side as if he had been watching them all sleep. Weird.

"Yeah, you know, that's what happens when you're done sleeping," Stiles replied, his sarcasm carrying an extra bite this morning.

Derek rolled his eyes. He took a gulp of the coffee in his hand. Not a sip, a gulp. The coffee was probably black as death too.

Stiles crossed his legs beneath him, figuring he would wait until Boyd and Isaac got up to move anywhere. He didn't really need to pee yet anyway.

"So. You and Ms. Blake," Stiles began, trying to break the awkward silence.

Derek groaned. "Please don't. Lydia bothered me enough about it."

"I won't," Stiles said, raising his hands placatingly. "Just, you know. Way to go." He added a coy wink for good measure.

"Yeah, well, same to you."

Stiles tilted his head. "What?"

Derek gestured at his neck. "You've got a giant bite mark on your throat. Who's the lucky gal?"

With a gasp, Stiles tried to look down at the mark, but it was in a weird spot. He hopped off the couch, tripped over Boyd and earned a grunt, then darted off to what he assumed was the bathroom.

It was. He slammed the door behind him and raced over to peer into the mirror above the sink. He was wearing an over-sized Star Wars shirt that hung off one shoulder. He could clearly see the gnarly bruise already formed on the soft flesh between his neck and shoulder. It was also scabbed over, and a bit of dried blood coated the wound.

With a curse, Stiles turned on the sink and splashed water on it, using tissues off the back of the toilet to dab at it since there were no towels in there, which was a shame because he would have loved to ruin one of Peter's towels.

The bathroom door opened, because of course Stiles had neglected to lock it, and Derek stepped in unbidden.

"What the hell, man? Don't you knock?" Stiles asked indignantly.

Derek ignored him, stepped closer to get a better look at the mark. His brow furrowed, and a dark look washed over his features, as if he wasn't already the king of brooding.

"The teeth marks are deep," Derek noted. "Peter did this, didn't he?"

Stiles paled. "What? You can tell?" he squeaked. "Will the others be able to?"

"If they get close enough. You reek of him. And he clearly lost a bit of control when he did this. These are from wolf teeth."

Stiles wanted to punch the dumb stupid beta that had done this to him in the face. "He could have killed me!"

"No," Derek said quietly. Stiles looked at him in the mirror, saw an odd little smirk on his face. "The wolf wouldn't have done that."

"What? What are you aiming at?" Stiles spun around, faced Derek head on. "Tell me. I want to know!"

"No, you don't," Derek replied, clearly being difficult. "You'll found out soon, anyway."

The Alpha turned to leave, but Stiles slipped around him and blocked the door. Not that his skinny ass could have done anything, but Derek wouldn't hurt him. He hoped.

"Tell me what it is so I don't freak out in front of everybody when I figure it out and embarrass myself more," Stiles pleaded. "Help a brother out."

Derek looked slightly uncomfortable now. "His wolf bit you to mark you. It's obvious that it wants you as a mate. I doubt Peter even meant to do it."

Stiles' jaw hit the floor. He just wanted to pass out again and never wake up.

"But-but if I don't do anything to acknowledge it, if I just let the mark fade-"

"Then the wolf will get restless. It's goal would be to... Well... Mate you."

Derek was trying not to make eye contact out of embarrassment, but he also looked severely amused. Jerk.

Stiles stepped out of the way. The sour wolf opened the door, to reveal Scott standing bleary-eyed in the hallway. Stiles quickly adjusted his shirt so the sleeve was hanging off the other shoulder, and the mark was carefully covered before moving to address Scott.

"Hey, buddy," Stiles said with mock cheerfulness. "You sleep well?"

Scott squinted at him, obviously curious as to why Stiles and Derek had been in the bathroom together, then nodded. "Peter's making breakfast, by the way. I'll be out there in a sec; I have to use the bathroom."

Stiles' best friend moved in around him and nudged the gawking Stiles out into the hallway, shutting the door after him. The kitchen overlooked the living area, since it was really just a kitchenette with counter-seating, so Stiles would have nowhere to hide.

With a shaky sigh, Stiles exited the hallway, knowing it would be weird to wait outside the bathroom.

Today was going to be hell.


	2. Weird Werewolf Venom

**A/N: **Wrote the second part of this while I was in speech class. Inspiration comes at the most inconvenient times- while you're supposed to be doing something else, like learning, or sleeping. I'm glad the way this turned out though. I appreciate all of your support so far, lovelies, but also, don't be afraid to tell me what you think! Motivation goes a long way. And I promise, I don't bite, and I take all of your comments into consideration while writing.

**Disclaimer: I do not own the MTV series Teen Wolf, or any of its characters.**

Isaac and Boyd were already sitting at the counter when Stiles wandered into the living area. There were four stools, and the two betas had selected the the first and second ones. Stiles eagerly climbed into the third, not wanting to sit on the outside where he could be vulnerable to Peter's wayward touches.

It was horribly awkward. Stiles tried to ignore Peter's eyes, the way they roamed over his body as he sat down. He also tried to ignore Derek's eyes, burning a hole into his back, intently watching the way Stiles interacted with Peter.

"Where are Lydia and Allison?" Stiles asked, attempting to break the silence that encompassed the group.

"With Ms. Blake," Peter answered. "Derek thought it would be more appropriate for them than staying here with older gentlemen and a bunch of teenage boys."

Stiles swallowed thickly and nodded at the counter, unable to meet the beta's eyes. He didn't realize that was an act of submissiveness, and Peter was pleased with it all the same.

"What do we do now?" Isaac inquired. "Are we really just going to hole up? Hide away like cowards?"

"They're all alphas. Do you really want a repeat of our last fight, where I nearly ended up dead?" Derek snapped. "No, we're going to train. We'll be ready for an attack, but we aren't going to take the offensive unless absolutely necessary."

"What would necessitate us attacking them?" Peter asked, cracking an egg into his skillet.

"If they take a hostage," Derek replied.

Peter merely shrugged. "Only the weakest get taken. If they are such a liability, they are hardly worth fighting for to get back."

There was that word again. Liability. Was he referring to Stiles, as he had been last night?

Derek seemed to sense the way Stiles stiffened and then curled in on himself. "What if it were Stiles?"

Peter had been stirring pancake batter, but now he stopped and regarded Stiles, who had been looking to Peter for a response. Their eyes met, Stiles' trying not to be pleading but failing, Peters' thoughtful.

"Well of course we would save him," Peter announced, going back to his pancakes. "He may not be the strongest of the group, but given the intelligence of your young, hormone-consumed betas, he's certainly the smartest."

Stiles couldn't help the flush that creeped up onto his face. He glanced at Isaac and Boyd, to see their reaction to the whole exchange. Neither of them seemed to have noticed the fond tone in which Peter spoke of Stiles, nor were they upset at being insulted for their intelligence. They were hungrily eying the food Peter was preparing, and were practically drooling onto the countertop.

Scott finally emerged from the bathroom and flopped down in onto the stool next to Stiles. Stiles was blushing down at the counter, feeling like he was going to melt out of his skin.

"Dude, what's up?" Scott asked, yawning. "You look weird."

Stiles wanted to slap his friend. "It's nothing," Stiles mumbled. "Just... Don't feel well, is all."

That wasn't entirely a lie. His stomach did hurt, although it was more because of the butterflies punching the shit out of his stomach than actual illness.

"You should go lie down," Scott offered. "You did just have an adjustment in your meds, right?" he whispered. "Your dad mentioned it, sorry."

Stiles nodded, glad that Scott's inability to be subtle or quiet gave him an out. "Yeah, you're right. Maybe it'll go away if I lie down for a bit."

"You can go to my room," Peter said, as Stiles stood.

Stiles nearly fell, would have if Scott hadn't stood up lightening-quick to help him.

"Wh-what?" Stiles squeaked, looking at Peter, who was smiling to himself. Prick.

"That way you have your privacy," Peter offered. "And it's certainly more comfortable than the couch."

_That's a lie, that couch is like a giant god damn pillow_, Stiles thought.

"Which way is it?" Scott asked, putting Stiles' arm around his shoulders.

"No, man, come on," Stiles protested.

"Look, I don't like the guy either, but you really need a quiet place to relax."

The concern evident on Scott's face, and the appealing idea of getting away from Peter and Derek's staring for a while led Stiles to nod wordlessly. Peter smirked, and pointed to a door off the hallway.

It was embarrassing, having Scott help him to Peter's room, but he had gotten himself in this mess and now he had to deal with it. He caught Derek grinning into his mug in the corner, and would have kicked the dumb Alpha in the face, if it wouldn't have resulted in him getting his foot bitten off.

Scott took him into the bedroom- which was nice, by the way, but that was no surprise considering how Peter dressed. He deposited Stiles on the bed, which was probably the most comfortable thing he had ever laid on. The comforter was white and had the consistency of marshmallows.

"Is this a Tempur-Pedic?" Stiles murmured.

"I don't know," Scott said, sounding amused. "Sleep tight, though."

Scott shut the door softly behind himself. Stiles was feeling a bit tired. Maybe that actually was the meds. But it was hard to sleep when he was too busy trying to figure out if the side he was lying on was Peter's side. Did he even have a side, since he slept alone? Should Stiles get under the covers, or would that be too weird?

Stiles shook the idea out of his head. Why would he do that? Why did he feel so at ease here? He could hear his own heartbeat, felt his blood as it thrummed from his heart out to his entire body, down to the tips of his fingers. The mark from Peter throbbed dully, but not painfully- almost... pleasurably. His senses were hyper-sensitive; he could smell Peter, faint traces of his cologne on the pillow.

He lost of the battle of resisting the urge to get under the covers and envelope himself in that scent. He curled in on himself; his arm brushed against his own stark erection, which he hadn't even realized he had.

Without realizing what he was doing- he felt like he was in a dream, like none of this was real- he eased the waistband of his sweatpants down to below his thighs, grabbed his dick in his hand, and imagined it was Peter's hand around him. Already slick with pre-cum, Stiles jacked himself off. It took barely any touching at all before he was coming in his hand, all over his thighs, and onto the blankets covering him.

Stiles threw back the covers, looked down at the semen glistening on his hand and on his skin. He came to himself, understood that he had _really _just masturbated in _Peter's _bed, and that he had visualized it was Peter himself doing it. What the hell was wrong with him?

The door across the room opened suddenly. Stiles tried to quickly yank his pants up, but given his still shaky, ever-fumbling hands, he knew he was caught.

Peter was standing in the doorway. For a brief moment, shock showed in his blue, blue eyes, but then a lascivious smirk crept across his face. He fully entered the room, shut the door with a soft click behind him, and then locked it.

"Jerking yourself off in someone else's bed?" Peter said teasingly. "Where are your manners? I would have liked to be party to this."

A blush worked its way across Stiles face, then down his entire body. He felt like he was burning up under Peter's appreciative gaze.

"What's happening to me?" Stiles demanded, gripping the sheets as waves of arousal washed over his body. "I feel so strange."

"You're in the wolf's den now, sweetheart," Peter replied. He strolled over to the edge of the bed, put his hands at either side of Stiles' feet. "The bite is reacting to me, to my bed, to my scent. It's releasing the venom it had stored under the surface of your skin, the same venom I unwittingly injected into you last night. Until I claim you, it will continue to do so whenever it feels me close, or whenever it's been too long since I've been close. It's a way of ensuring that the wolf gets what it wants, of keeping you in tune with its desires."

"Derek said the mark won't fade, the wolf won't let it," Stiles said.

Peter climbed up onto the bed, positioning himself at the edge of it on his knees. Stiles scrambled further up the mattress, sitting up fully, pulling his knees up against himself.

"No, the wolf will always find you before the venom runs out," Peter said, his voice dropping low, gruff. "So it's better that we settle this now."


	3. At Last, My Love Has Come Along

**A/N: **It has been nearly 2 months since I updated this. I have no excuse, other than that creativity cannot be rushed.

Really, I feel bad about this. I hope I can make it up to you with this chapter (unbeta-ed; I'll get around to it, after I get some much-needed sleep).

**Disclaimer: You know I don't own Teen Wolf by now. I don't know why I still bother. I guess I love this story too much.**

Peter climbed up the bed, and Stiles kept retreating until he was pressing himself into the headboard to get away. The beta was unamused with his antics; he grabbed one of Stiles' ankles and dragged him forward, closer to him.

"Relax," Peter whispered. "I'm not going to hurt you."

He grabbed Stiles by the shoulders, pushed him down on the mattress and pinned him there. Stiles was conflicted; his body wanted to stay and be ravaged, while his mind wanted nothing else than to flee, to get as far away from Peter as humanly (or inhumanly) possible.

Peter seemed to read his mind. He undid his own belt, slipped it from around his waist, and as Stiles was writhing about, trying to free himself from beneath Peter's knee now on his chest, the beta somehow managed to restrain Stiles' wrists to a rung of the headboard.

He sat back on Stiles' legs again, forcing them to stay down. He watched with waning interest as Stiles tugged at the belt, desparate to break free.

"I don't want to do this," Stiles said, even though his body was practically begging for it.

"You don't really have a choice," Peter cooed, putting his face close to Stiles'. Stiles was barely a part of the conversation anymore; he stared at Peter's lips, inches from his own, but heard no words come out. "The wolf isn't going to stop until it has you in its claws."

Peter pushed Stiles' shirt up, ran his hands up the boy's torso, his fingers ghosting along and causing Stiles to shiver and break out in gooseflesh. His hands rippled over ribs, brushed over nipples, straying up further until his hands were at Stiles' neck; he didn't apply pressure, merely rested them there, feeling the boy's pulse. Stiles' eyes were wide- shiny in the dimness in the room, like saucers- and he looked so afraid, that Peter started to pull away.

"No," Stiles moaned out, grinding up against Peter. His eyes still looked uncertain, and he was quaking like a pinned rabbit, but his body was coursing with bane and adrenaline, fit to burst. Peter had to do something.

Stiles didn't turn his head away as Peter pressed his lips to his, ever so softly, almost tenderly. When Peter's tongue delved into his mouth, Stiles didn't fight, but kissed back with increasing fervor until Stiles was straining against his bonds trying to pull himself and get further into Peter's mouth.

"Now," Stiles pleaded, turning his face away abruptly. "I want it now."

Peter's face dipped down, trying to catch Stiles' eyes, but the boy closed his own. His face was flushed a lovely shade of red, and Peter knew Stiles was embarrassed as much as he was turned on. Peter had almost forgotten he was a virgin.

"Just don't be too loud," Peter whispered, breath ghosting across Stiles' skin.

Stiles arched his neck up, crashing his lips into Peter's. Peter's tongue darted into Stiles' mouth, tasting him fully, urgently, clearly on the edge of control already as fangs poked into Stiles' tongue.

Peter suddenly pulled back.

"This is in the way," Peter said, hooking his claws into Stiles' shirt. He shredded it, until Stiles' torso was bare and the strips were discarded on the floor.

Stiles mind was clouded over with lust. He barely cared for the desecration of one of his most beloved shirts. All he cared was that Peter was removing his own shirt, as well.

Peter removed the belt from around Stiles' wrists, confident the boy wouldn't try to escape now. He pushed Stiles pants down as Stiles rubbed his arms, trying to get feeling back into his fingers, and Stiles was able to see that he was fully hard again mere minutes after cumming. Werewolf venom did that to you, he guessed.

A gasp escaped Stiles as Peter's hand grabbed his dick, started stoking it, using his cum from before as lubricant.

"Wh-what are you doing?" Stiles panted. "I'm going to-"

Stiles moaned loudly as Peter started jerking him faster without warning. Peter pressed against Stiles' thigh, his erection straining against his pants and against Stiles.

Another orgasm wracked Stiles' body. He came over Peter's hand, shuddering, while Peter rutted against his leg, clearly trying to get himself off.

Peter stopped, without orgasming, and Stiles was amazed at the man's self-control.

"Turn over," Peter growled. His eyes eclipsed for just a second into a intense, glowing blue, and Stiles didn't bother to complain that he had just orgasmed for the second time in like ten minutes. His dick was already flagging to attention again, anyway.

Stiles laid face down on the bed and hugged a pillow under his chin so he would be more comfortable. Peter took the only other pillow on the bed and shoved it underneath Stiles' pelvis, causing the boy to blush furiously and bury his face in the other pillow as he imagined his ass in the air.

Stiles felt a prodding at his hole, and then a finger was being pushed inside of him, slicked with cum. He bit his lip hard to keep from moaning, aware that the others could very well still be out in the kitchen.

After a moment, Peter stopped. He reached over to the bedside table,and Stiles heard a drawer opening. He heard a cap being popped, and then two fingers were pressing into his ass, slicker than before.

As Peter fucked him with one hand, he deftly undid his own pants with the other, and after much struggling managed to get them pushed partway down his thighs. In the meantime, he added another finger, and Stiles was sweating, he felt so stretched he swore he could rip apart.

But when Peter's hand retreated completely, Stiles felt so empty, and he jerked involuntarily against the pillow.

"Are you ready?" Peter asked teasingly, leaning over him.

"Just hurry up and fuck-"

Stiles didn't finish his sentence, as Peter started pushing into him, and he yelped in surprise. He shoved his face in the pillow, trying to stifle the noises as Peter pushed further and further into him.

When Peter finally stopped moving, Stiles realized that Peter was stroking Stiles' thigh almost tenderly, and was kissing his neck softly. He legitimately felt bad for causing Stiles pain.

But Stiles couldn't stand the fullness for much longer. Peter seemed to sense that, as he pulled out again, agonizingly slow, and then drove in a bit quicker this time. He pulled out one more time, slowly, and then slammed into Stiles, making him moan wantonly into the pillow.

He started moving, quickly picking up the pace until he was driving into Stiles over and over, their thighs slapping together. Stiles was biting the pillow, suppressing his screams, adamant about not screaming Peter's name.

Peter propped himself up on his arms and started fucking Stiles in short bursts, jerking his hips quickly and driving against Stiles' prostate over and over. Peter suddenly stopped, and his hips twitched as he spilled his seed deep into Stiles. The hot cum filling Stiles up instantly sent him over the edge, and he came a third time.

Peter pulled out right as he was done cumming and collapsed to one side of the bed. Stiles pulled the pillow out from under him and struggled to pull his pants up with one hand. He suddenly felt very vulnerable; exposed.

Peter rolled closer to Stiles, who was still lying face down and had his face turned towards him. He kissed the boy on the cheek, making him flush red all over again.

"How do you feel?" Peter asked, massaging Stiles' neck with one hand.

"Tired," Stiles replied, closing his eyes. "Dog-tired."

Peter chuckled, then pulled away. He got off the bed and yanked the blankets out from under Stiles without misplacing the boy, just as if he were pulling the tablecloth off of a set table and still left every article in its place. He covered Stiles up with the blankets, and proceeded to tuck Stiles in; Stiles couldn't help grinning like a fool into his pillow.

"Sleep tight," Peter said. He carded his fingers through Stiles' hair one last time before dipping out of the room.

Stiles fell asleep, not really caring to ponder on the fact that he now had a werewolf boyfriend who doted on him.


End file.
